


may you have an (un)eventful life

by anachronist



Series: blood trails [2]
Category: xxxHoLic, 血界戦線 | Kekkai Sensen | Blood Blockade Battlefront
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Semi-Unreliable Narrator, re-imagined holic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 20:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11089479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anachronist/pseuds/anachronist
Summary: Blitz Abrams and Himawari Kunogi got along like a house on fire.Sometimes, it was quite literal.





	may you have an (un)eventful life

**Author's Note:**

> The holic crew's backstory is fused with CCS, and canon events have been reappropriated. Includes mentions of canon-typical violence (for Kekkai Sensen) and Watanuki's issues.
> 
> Un-betaed. Standard I-don't-own disclaimers apply.

“I won’t allow it,” Watanuki hissed, bandying his spatula inches away from Blitz’s nose like it was a rapier. From the corner of his eye, he saw Doumeki reaching for a roll in the bread basket, and Watanuki smacked the offending appendage away with practiced ease and nary a glance. “You’re not allowed to harm my darling Himawari’s virtue. And Doumeki, you bottomless pit, wait until everything’s on the table!”

Blitz graciously ignored the droplets of creamy ravioli sauce that splattered on his cheek in favor of keeping his arms crossed as he frowned pointedly, because while Watanuki had the excuse of being barely just physically twenty, Blitz was an _actual_ adult, and therefore above petty snipping.

Then again, maybe he could give in for old time’s sake. The kid’s been far too serious and sad since his mother died, and bickering was probably an improvement in comparison to being bedridden from depression.

“It’s only a weekend and a train ride away, you prude,” Blitz said petulantly as he took one of the ravioli-laden dishes Watanuki finally started to serve after that outburst, “And her fiance’s pulling on those days, so they asked me to accompany her to see that piano concert she’s been harping about.” He drummed his fingers on his arm in irritation. “Hima’s all grown up you know - it’s not like she _needs_ your permission to go anywhere.”

Now, this would have been an entirely appropriate conversation if Blitz had been asking Watanuki’s permission to have Himawari’s hand in marriage, except Blitz and Himawari were absolutely not interested in having that kind of relationship. To add insult to injury, Watanuki had not been this prickly to Himawari’s _actual_ boyfriend when she first introduced the two - in fact, Himawari had said, Watanuki _smiled tenderly_ after properly threatening the man to take care of Himawari _or else_ , and sincerely wished the both of them long, happy lives.

It would not have been an unusual blessing for a happy couple, except Himawari’s kind of luck was lethally horrendous, and the girl was extremely fortunate to find someone immune to it. Blitz had sent them his congratulations as soon as he found out, complete with complimentary bottles of wine and holy water.

Heavens knew that even cursed fools like them needed to hope for the future.

“Himawari, no matter her age, has never been the problem,” Watanuki snapped as he took off his apron and finally joined them at the table, sitting beside his partner and across their guest. “ _Your presence_ with her is. Or do you not remember that clusterfuck of a traffic accident the last time she went out with you?”

“Accidents are accidents,” Blitz replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, because there was no way in hell an incident involving ten trucks and a motorcycle slamming into each other on the expressway during a stormy night was his fault - really, only idiots drove carelessly under those weather conditions. “Besides, no one died.”

(Himawari mentioned that the police also reported one of the trucks having a faulty brake despite its recent scheduled maintenance - again, a fluke, and entirely not his problem.)

Maybe that wasn’t the best reply. Mentioning death only served to darken Watanuki’s look, and oh since when did the boy start using that knife-like parody of a smile instead of the loud hand gestures and shrieking of his youth? “Now listen, you callous jerk -”

“Argue later,” Doumeki cut in sternly before Watanuki could say anything more, holding the his partner’s slim wrist with a gentleness that belied his tone, and pressed a fork in his hand, an unspoken reprimand. “Eat.”

There was a brief staring contest between the two, Doumeki’s golden brown against Watanuki’s heterochromatic gaze, which Blitz watched with begrudging amusement as he picked up his own fork, his own anger bleeding from him. A disgruntled Watanuki was the first to turn away, and for a while there was blessed silence as the three of them tucked in, with Doumeki already halfway through his first plate, and in short order the man held up his dish in a silent demand for seconds..

Not that Blitz could blame the man. Stupid nagging and catty behaviour aside, Watanuki was a damn good cook, and the divine ravioli they were having for dinner was proof.

Watanuki huffed in resigned exasperation and held his hand out for Doumeki’s plate, clearly having anticipated this if the serving bowl next to him was any indication. Blitz was far from surprised with the routine, having witnessed parts of its development over the years when his work took him to Japan. “As always, Shizuka, your metabolism is as stupid as you are.”

“Someone needs to keep up with your idiocy,” Doumeki simply replied, more out of habit than insult. _Routine, indeed._ “Besides, the professor and I had an urgent deadline earlier, and he forgot to bring his own lunch.”

“Of course you’d still be hungry after that,” Watanuki replied wryly as he returned the refilled plate to his partner, “never mind that I had packed enough for three people.”

The conversation turned to easier, lighter topics after that, a temporary ceasefire in the name of catching up.

If Watanuki just had happened to ask “when” things happened more often than “where” as he caught up with news from the outside, neither Blitz and Doumeki called it out.

 

000

 

“How do you handle it,” she once asked him, as they drank canned coffee on the bench in the park close to Tsuji Private Academy. It was late in the afternoon, and the trees around them barely had any leaves left to sway in the cold breeze. Soon, there would be snow, and hopefully Yuuko’s kid recovered fast enough from nearly dying to make this year’s winter holidays less awkward for anyone visiting.

“Hmm?” Blitz looked at her, dangling his almost empty can between his fingers. He didn’t know why she asked to talk with him - her loud friend hated his guts, for one, and during Blitz’ last visit to see the boy’s family half a year ago he only saw her once, a watchful shadow from the entrance of Watanuki’s gate. “You’d have to be more specific, kid.”

“Being cursed,” she said after thoughtful silence, and there was something about that carefully neutral tone that tugged at his attention, making Blitz look. She was looking down at her lap, as if caught in the middle of a decision.

“Oh, that. I just do,” he said with an uncomfortable grimace and a one-shouldered shrug, calculating offhand who he should interrogate with what method for informing the girl what his actual job was - Watanuki’s mother, or Doumeki’s grandfather (probably the latter, simply because Yuuko’s brand of help was entirely too convoluted even at the best of times). It was hardly something a normally cheerful young lady should know about.

But the girl said nothing, clearly waiting for more information as she traced the rim of the coffee can. Blitz stifled a sigh and ran a callous hand over his face, wondering if the particular flavor of insanity his friends’ lifestyles had was starting to catch. He should’ve known better than to hang out with psychics, or whatever they were calling themselves these days.

(He would realize how dreadfully conservative his assessment was years later, after the Great Collapse, when he discovered the true nature of the shop and Watanuki’s moaning about _anomalies_ and _rips in space and time_. Even before their marriage, it seemed, Yuuko and her husband were probably closer to _Beyondian_ than human because of their actual ages and the sheer scope of their abilities - and wasn’t that a shocking realization, actually having vocabulary for that family’s general branch of weirdness - the magic they’ve shown people so far being the mere tip of what they could actually do. Perhaps, having this much power was what started the tragedy of that family, a web of secrets and wishes and promises binding them all so very closely.

Doumeki Shizuka was the only one he entrusted his suspicions to, and Blitz had been sworn to silence with nary a denial nor confirmation.

The world was simply still a dangerous place, and some things were never meant to be spoken of.)

“Look, I won’t pretend to know why you’re interested - the gory details aren’t worth losing your lunch over, trust me - but it’s not as if whatever they’ve tried worked. So for what it’s worth, until I’m actually dead from old age, murder, or a freak accident, I’ll just keep going.”

Himawari’s hands around the coffee can in her lap tightened, her shoulders hunched _just so_. The movement was miniscule, but even with the clear lack of physical strength, it was enough give the impression of choking someone. “Even if it all piles up and puts everyone around you in danger?”

Blitz grunted, discomfort twisting his gut, even as he kept his own body language carefully neutral with hard-won ease. Comforting talks and all that fluff were absolutely nowhere near the areas of his expertise. Hell, he’d been calmer with a vampire’s fangs close to his throat.

“Did I get someone close to you killed,” he ventured carefully, even though he was absolutely sure his past involvement with Japanese cases was purely research-based. Any actual extermination was handled by local hunters, with varying reactions to foreign intervention ranging from polite apathy to outright hostility.

The reception, he knew, wasn’t personal as he was hardly the only travelling Fang Hunter. The locals were just _that_ territorial.

“Not you,” she said lightly, breaking him out of his meandering thoughts. “Me. People I get close to meet accidents. Even Watanuki-kun.”

Himawari Kunogi met his eyes then, not hiding behind a smile for once, patiently assessing. It was the kind of solemnity that should not be on a high school student’s face.

“If you had a curse like mine,” she continued asking with that all clear voice, “how would you handle it?”

On top of it all, a silent request for judgment. _How bold._

Blitz crossed his arms and considered the girl beside him. Had it been anyone else, he would have thought it was a teen’s hyperactive imagination and dramatics and given a lecture on why it was not a damn good idea to waste other people’s time.

To her credit, Himawari didn’t seem the type to lie for something like this. Moreover, he remembered Yuuko mentioning that one of her sons had a problem-laden friend, and if this child was the one, well.

In the end, Blitz was pragmatic. He wouldn’t have been able to make it this far without being crafty enough to know when to nip a problem in the bud instead of waiting for it to grow and bite his ass. Sometimes, it was also far kinder to end things early, and spare a would-be monster the guilt of having killed people close to them in a fit of insanity. This talk with the girl was no different: acquaintance of his friend’s kid or not, her ability to gather strings of tragedy even unintentionally was still an issue.

He’d done worse things in the past, as a Fang Hunter.

“That depends, child,” he said slowly, lightly playing with his empty coffee can even as he discreetly slipped his free hand into his pocket, his loose brown coat concealing the movement. His next move would depend entirely on the girl’s answer. “What, exactly, did you plan on doing with your life?”

If he had to kill her, what was one more thread of bad luck?

 

000

 

“My son met someone,” Yuuko said six months before that day, taking a long drag of smoke from her kiseru. If Blitz hadn’t known her for as long as he had, he wouldn’t have been able to see her carefully concealed worry.

“The hell are you on about now,” he grumbled as he nursed his own drink, not in the least bothered that he was sitting only on the zabuton in Yuuko’s lounge room while the woman herself was draped on her usual antique loveseat, a low table with bottles of alcohol and snacks between them. “Weren’t you bitching before that _both_ your kids didn’t have enough human interaction?”

“They still don’t,” Yuuko groused, downing her drink in one gulp and pouring herself another, her long black tresses slipping over her bare shoulder as she moved. “And Eriol’s picked up more of his father’s uncute conniving habits since he moved to England, can you believe it?” She sighed. “No, I’m talking about Kimihiro and his friend.”

“The noisier brat?” He tipped his head easily to dodge the half-hearted knuckle to his temple, only to receive a faceful of Yuuko’s single, billowing chiffon sleeve. Really, the woman was unfamiliar with the concept of being underdressed for all occasions, and her grecian style dress tonight for a simple drink in her own home was no different. “You mean he’s learned enough to finally go out of the house and not attract every blood sucker within a hundred mile radius? Do tell.”

“He has ways to go. Haruka and his grandson are helping him - in fact, they’re at the temple today.” She sighed. A small wistful smile curved on her painted lips as she down her glass on the polished table surface, the light ‘clink’ audible in the silent room. “Hopefully, he’ll survive my retirement. Strong enough, perhaps, even to survive his new friend’s kind of luck.”

Blitz knocked back his drink and refilled his glass, ignoring the ice in his gut in favor of the burn of alcohol down his throat. It was way too damn early to be sentimental over Yuuko’s eventual departure.

 

000

 

“Kunogi told me the circumstances,” Doumeki finally said as he accompanied Blitz to the gate. Watanuki was still inside the house cleaning up (Blitz refused to think of the place as a shop, and it was not a place he’d be a customer at). With just the two of them here it seemed that Blitz was about to get the actual threat to take care of Himawari for the evening.

Even in the dim light of the evening, Blitz could see the frustrated disapproval radiating from the stoic man’s body language, a quiet and concentrated anger rooted in protection and a fierce kind of friendship. The two of them stopped by the gate by unspoken agreement. “You weren’t able to talk her out of it, then.”

“No,” Blitz said, huffing in exasperation and shaking his head as he leaned on the gate post, feeling, in that moment, the weight of his years. He remembered a time when the three were younger, living normally as high school students and going through the pains of adolescence where it counted before their respective inheritances caught up, and all bets where this would end up were off the table. “She’s as stubborn as your idiot when she wants to be.” He fixed the younger man a stern look, daring him to comment. Blitz had made their foolishness part of his business, the important pieces if not the whole story. “See, situations like this are why all three of you deserve each other.”

(Doumeki Haruka, bless his soul, had described him as the kids’ crazy uncle who only dropped by on holidays that the kids secretly liked despite protests to the contrary. Blitz called him a senile old bastard even as the other man laughed merrily around his rolled cigarette, never quite dropping the habit despite his advanced age, and Yuuko cackling right alongside him.)

Doumeki Shizuka, the spitting image of his grandfather in his youth down to the exact same haircut, looked at him sharply in the succeeding silence, his golden brown eyes glinting in the moonlight, the same shade as Watanuki’s formerly dark blue right eye. Blitz met that gaze expectantly - one more proof of the sacrifices that the three kept to themselves, binding each other to this world.

Blitz allowed himself a cynical thought and wondered how long that kind of commitment would last in a world where monsters always lay in wait as long as their immortal lives allowed. Then he remembered his own path, teetering on the edge of shadow and death with friends far and few in between, where the loneliness would have crushed any person with the slightest weakness in resolve.

( _The girl had been born with the short end of the stick with the kind of luck that killed people. It was a miracle that she was still allowed to live._ )

“Don’t give her more regrets,” Doumeki finally said, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “I’ll let Kimihiro know to expect Kunogi’s call and you for tea on Monday.”

( _Absolutely ridiculous._ )

“Make sure he keeps track,” Blitz replied, lazily waving a hand in farewell as he walked through the gate to head to his hotel, keeping his other grip on his suitcase. Somewhere behind him, Doumeki grunted in response. “I’ll bring back a souvenir or two.”

“Nothing dismembered,” was Doumeki’s parting shot.

“Yeah, yeah.”

(The streets were quiet in that time of night, devoid of people who’d stare at him for walking out of an empty grass lot surrounded by tall buildings and talking to himself.

That was, if they noticed the empty lot at all.)

 

000

 

“So,” Blitz said as they walked away from the Shinjuku Station the following morning. “I’m pretty sure I can call someone in to help, and it might get damn messy. You really want to tag along?”

“It’ll be fine,” Himawari said, smiling cheerfully at him, her hands clasped behind her back,long dark wavy hair swaying with her movement. There was a bounce in her step as if they were merely going shopping instead of stepping into a den chock full of vampires, though Blitz didn’t doubt the girl was fully aware of the danger they were entering. “I _did_ ask for your help in fixing this. Thank you again for accepting.”

Somehow, and this should not have been surprising to anyone who knew of Himawari’s problem, the would-be snatcher of her wallet had ran to what was supposed to be an abandoned apartment complex, only to find a den of low level blood breed. It wasn’t so much about fixing Himawari’s problem, and more of taking out the trash.

“Crazy kid,” Blitz grumbled and stuffed his hand in his coat pocket, keeping a casual pace for Himawari to walk easier beside him, and corrected himself. “Crazy _kids_. Figures it’d be one of you who’d think of something like this.”

Himawari merely giggled, as carefree as the world could see. “That’s not a fair comparison, Abrams-san. I’m sure Doumeki-kun, at least, would keep Watanuki-kun from doing something moderately reckless. Besides, it’s a nice day out to walk, don’t you think?”

Definitely insane, and definitely deserving of each other.

“Whatever you say.” Agreeing was probably the better option in this case, and he wanted to avoid getting a headache. “Just stick to the plan, you hear? Only until the entrance, and no further until I say it’s safe.”

Himawari nodded, smiling cheerfully as she fell in step beside him, humming to the tune of a pop song as they went.

Somewhere behind them, a distribution transformer on a utility pole exploded, much to the shock of passerby, and the entire street experienced power failure. One jogger hid the affected post chin first from staring up at it while running, and had to be carted off to the hospital to fix a fractured jaw.

For Blitz, it was another day in Tokyo.

 

000

 

It was evening by the time Blitz escorted Himawari home from the park near Tsuji, after their first long talk with each other.

“You know that even without your condition, they’ll keep on coming after your friend until he gets a grip on his powers, right? It’s really only bad luck that he’s more vulnerable to being found when you’re around.”

Himawari nearly faltered in her steps, clearly not expecting that kind of blunt oversimplification. “What do you mean?”

“His blood’s like honey to a fly,” Blitz clarified, matter-of-fact. “It sings of power, not at all surprising considering who his parents were, and his type of kindness is an added bonus to pigs like them. Something about the sweetness adding more temptation to corrupt him and all that rot, didn’t really listen the last time. It’s a sad kind of funny - hell, his own twin’s as powerful as he is, but isn’t as bad of a magnet.” He cracked an eye open in her direction. “Then again, wasn’t it his kindness that drew you to him as well, Ms. Goddess of Luck?”

“Well - yes, but…”

She didn’t want Watanuki to die.

Watanuki, that warm, sweet boy who left nothing for himself, taunting that vampire as he fell out the broken window, if only for a chance to let his friends escape when it was clearly _him_ the creature wanted, and later had the gall to apologize once he woke up for endangering more people he cared about.

Absolutely foolish.

Himawari fell silent and fixed her gaze on the pavement, helpless. Long ago, that boisterous, loud and carefree Watanuki had called her his goddess of luck, foolishly ignoring the growing misfortune that her presence inevitably brought.

Then and now, she didn’t know if her selfishness in wanting to break her loneliness and befriend that bright boy with a heart of gold was the right choice ( _just for a while_ , her traitorous heart whispered, _only a little longer_ ), but the scars on her back chafed against the cloth of her blouse, the fresh imprints of her part in paying the price for Watanuki’s continued existence, and she remembered.

Despite everything, this friendship was precious to the both of them, and they could not let go.

“I want to help,” she finally said, pale fingers curling into fists, trembling yet determined. “I don’t know how I can keep them away, or if I can fight even, but - I’ll do what I can.” She stilled, as if she realized something, and she looked fairly troubled even as she said something that chilled Blitz to the bone.

“Even they aren’t immune to misfortune, yes?”

Around them, the wind howled.

 

000

 

Blitz was already a cynical private investigator before becoming the world’s greatest vampire hunter. He’s seen many things in his long life, how people broke with grief and despair and sheer hopelessness, and wondered how this girl’s determination would hold up.

But then this, girl showed throughout their conversation that practical and cautious, hiding a steel of spine behind a cheerful smile. That, there, was potential.

(Karmic consequences be damned, but what was one more curse to this girl who was born with the blackest of fates?)

“Hopefully,” Blitz forced out, “it won’t come to that. Let’s figure something out.”

“Then I am glad that my condition might yet still be beneficial for everyone’s continued health under your guidance.” HImawari took a deep breath and bowed. When she straightened, her usual smile was back in place. “Thank you for this chance, Abrams-san.”

 

000

 

They sealed the blood breed before the weekend was over. Behind them, the derelict apartment complex blazed like a raging inferno, destroying the remnants of the blood breed’s depravity. Himawari was bruised and the scrapes on her knees and calves would take a few days to heal. Abrams had several lacerations on his limbs and chest, but he’d live.

“Yeah. We’re done here. kid.” Abrams places his hand on Himawari’s shoulder in an awkward pat before bracing himself as she helped him stand. “You did great.”

Himawari beamed at him, smoothening the hem of her ruffled, torn blouse, and tipped her head with enough care to not jar Blitz’s arm, ever the perfect picture of Japanese politeness even with the soot on her cheek.

It was an expression absolutely out of place in a disaster zone.

Together, they walked away from the debris, slipping into in a narrow side street to avoid the crowd that started to gather a short distance from the building. Somewhere further up the road, a siren’s wail tore through the air, mingling with the crackle of fire and murmur of people.

“Ne, Abrams-san. If we get cleaned up before sundown, I think we’ll still be able to that piano concert.” Himawari looked up at him, humming softly, his arm still draped over her shoulders. It was more difficult to walk now that the adrenaline’s died down, but they’d manage even if they had to lean on the alley’s dingy walls to stave off the exhaustion. “Shall we go?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, Hima.” Blitz made a show of rubbing his chin and thinking about it, because it was his job as an honorary uncle to be a bastard at times (and no matter how old they got, those three would always be kids to him). “Fancy clothes and being all cultured’s more your thing, you know? I think I forgot my better ties in New York, too -”

“Abrams- _san_!” Himawari gently chided, and they both knew Abrams was too meticulous to leave his things scattered around despite his gruff appearance and thoughtlessly maintained beard.

“Alright, alright,” Blitz said, shrugging and ignoring the twinge of pain from the gashes and the wounded muscle. “Fancy and cultured it is. Suppose I should be thankful you didn’t choose one of those idol group things; their fans are fucking loud.”

(Blitz somehow survived with the pile of curses on his name because of his sheer goddamn Luck, so much so that Himawari’s own existence wouldn’t affect him. It was a nice, safe neutral zone for them, and a horrendously lethal bubble of negative intent for anyone who tried to harm them in the immediate vicinity.

It wasn’t perfect, but for dealing with the den they found, that was enough.)

 

000

 

Three years after the dimensional rift that was Hellsalem’s Lot crashed into their world, the phone in Himawari’s apartment near Ghetto Heights rang.

“Hey, Hima. You ever think of getting a mobile phone? It’s more convenient, I swear.”

Himawari laughed. “You don’t do social calls, Abrams-san.”

“You know that’s not true,” Blitz chuckled roughly, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t do social calls _often_ , not _never_. A once in a blue moon kind of deal. “Listen, I need your mother hen to get his ass to America. A kid with damn good eyesight found a rat’s nest at the bottom of Eternal Nothingness, and I need to check a few things with him on it. You wanna check if he and the hubby are up to visit you?”

At some point, Watanuki had grown enough to stop running from the monsters after him and start doing something about it, and for once Blitz hadn’t pried too deeply (some things were not meant to be spoken of). Blitz was all for using his talents, much as he had consulted Yuuko years ago before her passing, and he would have directly called instead of going through Himawari if it wasn’t for the fact that Hellsalem was a bit of a sore subject.

Never mind that it had been Himawari’s decision to move in; Watanuki still probably hadn’t forgiven Blitz for suggesting the transfer in the first place.

“Ah, but Abrams-san,” Himawari said over the phone, and Blitz could feel the edge of her smile solely from her tone, “the last time we spoke, you said you had more friends looking into it. In fact, I’m pretty sure there are fewer incidents elsewhere since Hellsalem appeared. Did something happen?”

Of course, the inevitable downside of going through Himawari was that _she’d_ protest exposing Watanuki to a pit full of Elder-class blood breeds, despite how decently Watanuki could hold his own these days.

That overprotectiveness was going to be the death of anyone who was friends with that trio. Blitz wished he was joking, except there was luck, and there was _Luck_ and _Karma_ wrapped around the three stupid, stubborn idiots like the plot of some great, tragic soap opera friendship.

Utterly deserving of each other, indeed.

“It’s a _really_ big rat’s nest, The gates of hell, even. Except, nobody knows why they haven’t stepped out yet, so we want to make sure they stay put. If we manage to close the door, it’s a huge bonus.”

“Maybe they’d visit if you showed them around,” she finally allowed. “And you still have to be the one to call - that’s how requesting things from Watanuki-kun works, yes?”

“Oh fine,” Blitz groaned, not looking forward to more of Watanuki’s barbed comments. He should have guessed the kid would develop a knack for those eventually, between Yuuko’s silver tongue and Doumeki Shizuka’s biting, quiet sarcasm. “Absolutely no pity for my blood pressure. If the doctor says I need maintenance, I’m sending the bill to you.”

 

000

 

Himawari sighed as she put down the phone and glanced at her clock. Her husband would not be home from work until the evening, and there were enough hours left in the afternoon for her to go to the grocery.

In the thick fog outside her window, a large creature with too many legs flew by, briefly blocking the light.

Hellsalem’s Lot was, by far, livelier than Tokyo could ever be, and for all their worries on her safety her friends could not begrudge her the transfer.

_“Troublesome kid,” Abrams sighed then, running a hand through his short hair. “Look, if everyone in that damned place can put up with having too many alternate worlds passing through it, your luck shouldn’t be too bad. Live a little.”_

And live, she had.

 

000

 

(There were rumors of a place in the Chinatown mists that appeared every now and then, an odds and ends shop where people in need of something, anything found themselves at for as long as they could pay the price.

Himawari dared not to look for it, but she mentioned the rumor to Watanuki over the phone in passing, and he had hummed.

“Hellsalem’s Lot sounds like a lively place,” he said instead calmly. Himawari wished she could see them, all grown up and comfortable in their own skin, alive in the world. “Maybe, someday, the three of us can meet for tea.”

Himawari’s lips curved in a tender smile, and she gently clutched the telephone cord.

“Someday,” she said, “Watanuki-kun.”)

**Author's Note:**

> There's still a bunch of backstory for this involving CCS characters, and more interaction with the holic crew, Libra, and maybe Kohane.


End file.
